Let It Go
by NotEnoughTimeOnMyHands
Summary: What do you do when the object of your affection has developed an affection of their own? Elizabeth Keen is about to find out. Lizzington
1. Chapter 1

Set in season two but started before it began. I wrote this with the idea Tom might not be dead but without knowing how or why. It comes from the same place as all my fics; from Liz's emotion reflecting upon her circumstance. I always think she will feel confusion, anger ... sometimes outrage. while I have an idea for a second chapter (some phrases and lines) it is still a work in progress. comments very welcome but I'm posting for fun!

Let It Go

There came a moment when Liz was considering her life, it's evolution from what she had considered to be normal, till now. So many things had happened, so many difficult, so many troublesome things. She reflects on the evaporation of her reality; Sam's death, Tom's betrayal, her steady FBI job falling away to leave her in this perplexing abyss.

There would have been a time when she would have been angry. There would have been a time when she'd have rebelled against the changes and difficulties thrust upon her. But as she sits, as she thinks, she must acknowledge that she's softened. _Without_ everything she's ever had. _Despite_ everything she has lost; she has Red. He is unwavering. What was at first an appreciation. What became a quiet, concealed affection; has grown until she feels like the attraction consumes her. She attempts to keep it within her grasp but it slips and she knows it's only a matter of time before she must tell him, or before her actions make her admission redundant.

Is she an open book? She's kept secrets from him of late and while he was left wondering what they were, he was in no doubt of their existence.

Weeks pass and Liz is on the verge of saying something. Of doing something so he knows how she feels; so he is propelled into telling her if he feels the same or at the very least, if he feels something.

Maybe Red is already sending signals. Maybe he's already made it abundantly clear. But having been so taken in before, she is hesitant to read into signs, reluctant to believe anything that's less that 100% transparent. Some would call it paranoia but Liz likes to think she's just being cautious.

Then one day Liz goes to Red at Fredrick's house. It's almost a debrief, but more like she wants to touch base with him. They've taken a Blacklister down, despite her ferocious reputation she proved to be somewhat inept and the op went like clockwork. Not something they can regularly claim. So having completed the paperwork Liz stops by, because she wants to, because she thinks it's a good enough reason.

"Lizzie", he greets her in the library. He's on his feet, readying himself for departure but still gentlemanly as he addresses her. She gives him a swift account of events and he listens, smiles, nods. Liz likes his smile, likes his little tells. Each incidental movement seemingly essential to his character, to him.

They exchange pleasantries while he continues to move. She's aware of it, while not being aware of it, if that is possible. Something in her subconscious knows he's leaving before her tells her he's about to go. Dembe hovers by the door as Red finally departs. Liz is wrong footed; she is surprised and unable to speak. But there is something in Dembe's eyes, mild pity, a truth yet to be spoken, that sets a stone in her heart. The appointment Red is leaving for is more pleasure than business, but Liz is still to learn that.

When the pattern of appointments, of meetings, of dates, becomes regular and when all at the Blacksite become aware of Red's new friend, Liz has no option but to face facts. When the object of your affection develops an affection of their own, things become complicated. Do you hide how you feel? Do you declare it? What are the chances of it working out? Surely it must be statistically higher that her chance with Red!? Criminal informant and FBI handler seems like an unlikey combo. Whoever he's now courting must be a better match than her. And given that undeniable fact, it seems wrong to stand in their way. This isn't quite loving someone and setting them free, it's more like recognising when you're defeated and accepting it graciously.

For the next few weeks she's acutely aware of his periods of absence. As the seconds tick by it becomes impossible not to imagine him with her. His charm wooing, his attention, his warmth, all he has to offer winning her over. Each day that passes further separates her from any possibility of a relationship with Red. The Lizzington ship has sailed and she is still on terra firma.

While trying to avoid any stalkerish tendencies she continues to observe him and gradually her desires, her narrow but firm hopes are obliterated. Raymond Reddington has found someone and it is not Elizabeth Keen.

Many weeks later nothing has changed. Liz is getting on with it because that's what you do in situations such as this. She does her best to conceal how she feels, to show nothing outwardly of her desire or her disappointment. All things considered it's a good effort; she projects mild disinterest all the while monitoring his appearance, his mood, and his extended periods of absence. It makes her glum beyond measure; she knows she has to let this go, to move beyond, for her own peace of mind, if not her own sanity.

The following Friday they are again in the Blacksite. The team worked for days to evidence gather, to locate and to plan for the latest name on Red's list. 117 was a tough takedown and Cooper was a step away from incandescent rage at the damage they'd injured. While the op hadn't been deadly, 117 proved tenacious and it was good fortune more than anything else that let them escape relatively intact. At first Liz thinks everyone will lose their weekend, but in the wee small hours she looks up to an almost empty war room. Those who Cooper has dismissed silently skulked off until they are among the very few that remain. As if alerted by her own realisation, Red glances up too. He hadn't meant to stay so long, hadn't meant to get lost in their reflections or in her company. But their time together has been limited of late. He feels a twinge of regret thinking it has something to do with his lady friend, but casts it aside with the thought it has more to do with the natural ebb and flow of their working arrangement. There is no need to over romanticise the friendship they have, but the mere thought leaves him with more questions to ponder. Why does he consider things in those terms, why is he quantifying their feels, the time they have together, any of it? Slowly he rises from his seat, they are still deep in conversation but Liz knows it's drawing to a close; she's been extending it within the realm of feasibility thus far.

In one fluid movement Red lifts his jacket and slips it on. He takes his leave and Liz mimics ease, all the while feeling sadness, feeling regret. She thinks he doesn't see it but as he departs she assumes her best goodbye old friend smile. It's the kind of smile you offer when all you want to do is cry. It's the kind of smile you muster when you gather all your strength and attempt to feel happy, when you feel anything but. It's not bitter, but it's not convincing anyone. It doesn't convince Red when he sees it; it tells him a very different story.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A/N Just to restate that this was originally drafted before season 2 started. As a result I was implying a mystery about Tom's whereabouts. I realise he's made an appearance but I think there is still a mystery – so that in a roundabout way this still fits.

* * *

><p>The following weeks pass in the blink of an eye. The fallout from 117 turns out to be a heavy burden to carry. Vengeance is swift and merciless; though they escaped the initial mission intact, they don't fare as well when 117 turns the tables and pursues them. There is something personal about that attacks that leaves them uneasy. Not that 117 doesn't have reasons of his own – yet his knowledge of them, the violence of the attacks silences them when they are briefed by Cooper.<p>

Days give way to weeks and they are still no nearer finding their target or stopping the attacks. Before Red was increasingly absent, now he is ever present. Liz doesn't know but since the night Red saw behind her mask, saw the look of sadness and longing, he's been more willing to spend time at her side and less inclined to advance his fledgling relationship. No one thinks to question it; Red staying close to Liz in a period of increased danger seems natural given his professional desire for her. Raymond Reddington only speaks to Elizabeth Keen and it's only possible to do that when she's alive and well.

This rebalancing has brought with it a kind of silent tension. There are things they both want to discuss but each is denying to themselves the existence of a problem. Liz has struggled with the idea of Red with someone – of never having a chance to experience what he could bring to her life. Red has tried to remain steadfast to the commitments he has made, it's important to him to act honourably when possible but the more time that passes the more he is drawn back to Liz. The result of all this self imposed restriction sits uneasy with them both. It strains their relationship, causing them to resent when it might be wise to relent.

In the early hours of the morning they are called to the meeting room. Waiting are Cooper, Ressler, Aram and a small circle of others. She can't explain it but she feels a dark, unsettling sense of foreboding.

"We believe 117 has a source, someone with some inside knowledge of the Blacksite, the team" Cooper tells them.

"A mole, Harold?" Red asks.

"Not exactly" he says, pausing before continuing, "we have intel that suggests the information could be being provided by your husband" Cooper states deadpan, watching both Liz and Red to see if their reactions suggest prior knowledge.

"Impossible" she says in a quiet voice.

"Is it?" Cooper prompts.

"Where is this intel from Harold? " Red asks, suspicion showing in the tightness in his jaw.

"Right now I'm not willing to say. Is there something either of you wish to disclose?"

His question is met with a silence that's cut short as Red stands, gently pulling out Liz's seat and encouraging her to follow.

They return to the War Room, pouring over the details they've gathered about 117. They attempt to link it to anything they know about Tom Keen but it appears that there isn't a new thread of evidence to be found about either. However, Liz knows Tom Keen, maybe more that she think, certainly more that Tom would like. She uses what she knows to dig a little deeper, but it is difficult with Red so close. On her screen she pulls up names, addresses, background checks. Suddenly she thinks she has something, she takes a moment to commit it to memory before closing the programme down. When she looks up Red is staring at her, his eyebrow raised.

"Something you'd like to share with the class Agent Keen?" he mocks.

Liz stares back; she's kept so many secrets from him of late. She's worried that she'll giving something away in her silence and equally sure she'll divulge something if she talks. Her stony silence drags on until it appears Red finally gives up. He stands and lifts his jacket. The action reminds her of that night so many weeks ago. Yet as Red departs he turns and finds a mask of a different kind.

Liz waits until the morning moves on. She's desperate to move but deliberately trying to outwit Red. She knows he's suspicious but she doesn't want, doesn't need his vigilance. She's on her own, for better or for worse. Why can't he see that? Why can't he admit it? He might have someone, but she is fine alone. More than fine! It sounds desperate even to her own ears. When enough time has passed she gathers her belongings and tells Ressler she's headed home. They've been going for near 36 hours so he doesn't question it.

Then she does go home. If Red of anyone is watching her it will appear as normal. She changes, she eats but she's agitated. The clue Liz tried to hide from Red leads her back to an abandoned building, close to where Jolene had her base; the one Tom visited. When she can't wait any longer she leaves through the back door. She moves quickly, putting distance between her and anyone who might be watching. She walks a few blocks, takes a taxi and alights two streets from her target.

As Liz approaches she continues her paranoid surveillance. Maybe she's making a mistake going it alone but she fears she could be wrong, and she's been wrong about so many things. She quickly picks the lock and slips inside. She tries to move stealthily, making no sound while taking in every possible danger. There are eyes on her, familiar eyes hidden by the shadows but she doesn't know.

Moments later her attention is claimed by a noise on the roof far above. She moves cautiously intent on finding Tom, on finding a reason, an answer. She knows 117 isn't the solution to her problems but she pushes all the same. The stairwell is dark and she's momentarily blinded as she steps into the early afternoon sunshine. She expects to be accosted, for her unknown enemy to strike while they have the advantage but nothing happens. Slowly she regains her lost sense and advances into the small roof area, skirting the wall of the stairwell. The ground that she stands on forms a small platform, beyond the stairwell structure she'll be out in the open, vulnerable to attack. The area is surrounded by a low wall, beyond that a sloped roof and a perilous, perhaps fatal fall.

Liz approaches the edge of the stairwell structure and readies herself to step into the unknown. She quickly glances round the corner but sees nothing. Lifting her gun she steps out but she's no sooner righted herself that she is swept, dragged off her feet. The attack comes quickly and from behind. If she could formulate a coherent thought, she'd realise that she's made a mistake. She may have been the one to locate him but he quickly turned the tables and he is using the features of the building against her. However, there is no time for that. Her attacker has the advantage of size and surprise and before she can respond she is moved towards the edge. With a last thrust she's pushed over the edge, her gun dropping from her grip. She lands hard on the sloped roof, her body hitting the tiles painfully. Then she starts to slide.

Maybe it's her sweaty palms, maybe it's the steep inclination of the roof but she can't find purchase and she slips ever quicker to the edge. As the distance narrows her panic rises, she begins to flail in a last desperate irrational moment. Suddenly out of nowhere a hand grabs her wrist, she doesn't look up, it's all she can do to contain her shock, to not struggle against her would be saviour. She's pulled up firmly but delicately until she's resting on a body. There is something warm and familiar about the scent she's enveloped in but she is too shaken to place it. How could someone stop her slide when she was so helpless, so unable? She glances down and sees the stylish but infuriatingly practical rubber soles that helped make the action possible.

"Hello Lizzie" he purrs and she knows she is in trouble.

Red hauls her up with him and finally Dembe takes hold of her and lifts her over the edge and onto the flat. He doesn't look pleased but she fears he is the least of her problems. Red makes his own way from the sloping tiles to the flat and briefly brushes off his clothes all the while staring at her.

He doesn't speak and she knows this is testament to his anger, not his ability to verbalise his displeasure. They exit the building, travel in the car and enter her apartment without a single word being spoken; nothing of her assailant and her most recent deception. It strikes her that she is being ungrateful, ungracious, considering he saved her but her hackles are up and she thinks she needs to be on the offensive. They are both angry; her living room is the scene of a tense but short lived standoff.

"Why do you insist on trying to keep secrets from me Lizzie?" Red asks, breaking the silence they've both sheltered in. He's angry; it's in his expression and his tone.

"It was a hunch. What secrets have I kept?" She bristles as she answers him.

He lifts an eyebrow and suddenly she feels exposed. He can't know how she feels, he can't, but she still wants to backtrack.

"I need to be alone" Liz tells him but he continues to stand surveying the room, his distaste evident and amplified by his acerbic attempt to feign otherwise.

"Is that so?" Red baits. "I don't think we're done talking".

"Your role in my life has been ambiguous at best." Liz says hoping to aggravate him, to divert the subject and hold on to her secret.

Red gently shakes his head; a light disbelieving laugh escapes his lips. "Ambiguous, that's the thanks I get for my actions today. I hardly expected exuberant gratitude but that's a little cold Lizzie, even for you".

"Cold! You call me cold after everything that's happened. I have nothing. The life I had has been robbed from me and I'm left alone. You won't tell me the reason so it seems as if it's because of you" Liz retorts.

"I see", Red replies dryly.

Liz tries to think how best to proceed but the tension in the air that's been crackling, that has been building between them is finally coming to a head, and no amount of panic stricken diverting can delayed it further. "I only said that to keep this argument that's brewing at bay. Nothing about what you've done to my life has been ambiguous. You turned my life upside down; you shot my husband and killed my father." Red tries to interject but she cuts him off, "I KNOW he wasn't my real husband, my god, Sam wasn't even my real father. It doesn't mean it wasn't a loss to me. It doesn't mean that I haven't suffered".

Red waits for her to elaborate but she is stubborn and no longer forthcoming. He thinks how to proceed. He knows that things must change and he considers how best to bring that about. It is not at all the Raymond Reddington way but he thinks honesty begets honesty. Maybe a little truth will encourage her to share. "Let's talk about what's really happening between us Lizzie" he begins.

"I ... what? I don't know what you mean" she says but her flustered state, her embarrassed expression is enough to confirm to him that he's been right about her all along.

"It's no coincidence that the evidence of your affection has coincided with the cooling of my own relationship" Red states.

"What?" she says astounded. Red just stares back his expression telling her he isn't buying it, yet she clings to the denial all the same.

"Haven't you learned by now, you can't hide from me Lizzie" Red says, his voice dipping to a low timbre. "You say you're alone yet you chose to keep your attraction from me. What choice was I given? Your solitary exile is self imposed".

Liz is frozen, her thoughts and actions. Slowly she starts to consider his words, the truth of the situation as he sees it. And perhaps he is right. If she'd spoken to him as she once considered then there wouldn't be this anger, this futile resentment. She could feel something other than this hopeless despair.

"You could be wrong. This could be nothing" she tries, knowing that the time to deny, to conceal, has long since passed.

Red approaches her slowly, his body language relaxed again. He's comfortable; the relief that comes from acknowledging the truth a welcome tonic. "This is something you cannot quantify. You can't hold it in your hands. Yet it exists. Despite both of our best efforts what we feel has grown. That's what love does. It needs no oxygen, no nourishment. But you feel it don't you?"

Liz just stares back; caution in her eyes and posture. She has no words of agreement, just a weakening suspicion. He watches her carefully and as he sees her begin to yield he envelops her with his arms before lifting a hand to cup her face. He wants to saviour this, to remember how she looks and feels. It's this attention to detail that lets him see the gentle smile she allows herself before he finally kisses her.

The End xx


End file.
